THE GLEANER.

Evening Star, Issue 14162, 11 September 1909, Page 9

THE GLEANER.

[By Duncan Wiuoht, Dunedin.] No. 119. MOTHER, ETC. ' Very often “etc.” means little; in this instance it means a great deal. Read and see:— I love old mothers—mothers with white hair, And kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet With murmured blessings over sleeping babes. There is a something in their quiet grace That speaks tho calm of Sabbath afternoons ; A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering eyes That far outstrotche's all philosophy. Time, with caressing touch, about them weaves ’lbo silver-threaded fairy shawl of age, While all the echoes of forgotten songs Seemed joined to lend a .sweetness to their speech. Old mothers I—as1 —as (hey pass with slowtimed step Their trembling hands cling ge'ntlv to youth’s strength. Sweet mothers!—as they pass, one secs again Old garden walks, old roses, and old loves. Do these lin?s suit your taste? The critic who has no place for .sentiment in his life need not read these Gleanings, because I love sentiment, in its place, and mean to put as much of it into this message_ as I can. What a hard-headed, hard-hearted, gnarled old selfish world wo live in! A poor thing, indeed, but for love, sympathy, gentleness, and sweet Christian charity. , Tire Gleaner does not cater for the 'Stock Exchange, nor the Custom-house, nor the busy mart, nor tho bustling warehouse. Oh, no! he is well pleased to reach the homely kitchen, the room whore the children do their school lessons, and perhaps once in a while tho cosy room where the piano is well in hand, and whore mother and grandmother spend their quiet, happy hours of leisure. 0 man ! forgive thy mortal foe, Nor even strike him blow for blow ; For all the souls on earth that live, To be forgiven, must forgive. A TRAGEDY IN REAL LIFE. Years ago, when the late Rov. Hugh Price Hughes and Josiah Nix were doing evangelistic work together, they received from a broken-hearted mother in the country, entreating them to find her erring son, who had left his wife and family and come to London to live. Ho was* supposed to be living in a common lodginghouse. “ tell him,”' said tho mother, “he is wanted, and must come home on tho first train.” the preachers searched for the missing son, and successfully. They found a tall man lying stretched on a bench, and laying a hand on tho man’s shoulder, one of the missioners said:- “ Wc have a message tor you from your mother.” The man sprang to his feet, and said : " Don't you mention my mother’s sacred name in this unholy place.” Then they produced.the mother’s letter and a photograph. The rest is easily told, without recording delicate details—the lost son was iound. Even when sitting among the swine tho prodigal was a son—a member of the household *A GREAT POET SINGS: I loved her—one Not learned, save in gracious household ways, Nor perfect, nay. but full of tender wants. No-Angel, hut a dearer being, all dipt In Angel instincts, breathing Paradise, Interpreter between the Gods and men, Who look'd all native to her place, and yet On tiptoe seem’d to touch upon a sphere Too gross to tread, and all male minds pertorce Sway d to her from their orbits as they moved, J And girdled her with, music. Happv he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust iu all things high Comes easy to him, and tho’ ho trip and Ho shall not blind his soul with clay. If Tennyson, with his high ideals and pure, lolly soul, can thus sing of his mother, may not we, of humbler clay, also tel! out tho gladness of our souls? 1 in a golden clime was horn. With golden stars above; Dower’d with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, Tho lovo of love. DR HENRY VAN DYKE.

Would it be true, would it bo prudent, In apply to our own loved Dominion what this well-known writer says of the groat American Republic? “The home comes first because it is the secdplot and nursery of virtue. A noble nation of gnoble households is impossible. Uur greatest peril to-day is the decline of domestic morality* discipline, and piety. . . . Show mo a homo where the tone of life is selfish, disorderly, or trivial, jaundiced by avarice, frivolised by fashion, or poisoned by scepticism ; whore success is worshipped and righteousness ignored; where there are two consciences—one for private and one for public use; where the boys are permitted to believe that religion has nothing to do with citizenship, and that their object must bo to got as much as possible from the State and to do as little as possible for it—-show mo such a home, and I will show you a breedingplace of enemies of the Republic.” MOTHERS AND MEN. The same writer also declares : “ To the hands of women the ordinance of nature has committed the trust of training men for their country's service. “Greatness, indeed, parental love cannot bestow; but the manliness is often a mother’s gift. Teach your sons to respect themselves without asserting themselves. “ Teach them to think sound and wholesome Thoughts, free from prejudice and passion. Teach them to speak the truth, even about their own party, and to pay their debts in the same money in which they were contracted, and to prefer poverty to dishonor - . “ Teach them to worship God by doing some useful work, to live honestly and cheerfully m such a station as they are fit to rill, and to love their co.uiitirv with an -unselfish and uplifting love.” Some of our enemies aSd critics arc not slow to charge colonials with being guilty of puff and brag and blow. Is it true?' If so, to what extent ! Amongst the younger nations we can conspicuously hold our own against nil-comers in many things. May God, without whom we are nothing, grant us high ideals and lofty aims in alf things. Is the man who uses strong superlatives when speaking of the love he bears to his wife, but carries a latch key, and prefers to como home at midnight, a mocker? The young man w - ho boasts of his allegiance to home, to parents and sisters, Init nearly always prefers the company of strangers and late hours, only plays the fool, and in the end breaks" a mother’s heart. A WOMAN’S SONG. Oh, for a look of that loving face. So sweet, so fair, so culm ; Just to hear that gentle voice Raised in the evening psalm. Just to see that smile again. As in the happy days gone by, And to clasp the hand “of that mother dear Who dwells beyond the skv. Many a strong man could sing these homely words with a true soul if ho could only get a quiet corner, and away from the inquisitive gaze of flippant onlookers. You know the man, and many times I have met him. The wide sens that roll between the wandering son and the old homo cannot quench a mother's love, and .the mother’s prayer touch for him the eternal world. Listen to this: “ There is no love like here, and we never can forget it. Her lessons are never forgotten. A man may become fallen and degraded and an outcast; he may wander from the path of rectitude and honor, aftd become steeped in infamy and shame; but mother’s early teachings may find him in many a sad hour, whether ho be in a palace or a felon’s cell. The ■world may revile, bob a mother’s love

changes not. Let those-who have a good mother appreciate the blessing. God pity those who have not.” As a P.S. I would add : Don’t wait till mother sleeps in the grave. Give her your reverence and devotion now. instead of putting paltry flowers on her coffin. “ She was the queen,” as Tnlmage puts it. “And if you could only wake her up from her slumbers, if you could only hear her voice speak again your .name as once she spoke it, you would be willing to throw - yourself on the sod that covers her. aud to kiss the dust, crying ‘ Mother!’ Oh, she was the queen ! ” I repeat: Do her reverence now. Let your gifts, in token of your love, fill her heart to-day. Don’t wait till she asks you. .Many a noble-hearted woman, is downcast and brimful of bitter sorrow because tho love she deserves so well and longs for is not given. Oh, tfie 'tragedies of life! Heaven alone can tell the anguish in many a gilded palace, as well as many a Godforsaken cottage. But women, as a rule, are so brave,, often so heroic, that they prudently hide from inquisitive, unsympathetic eyes the cruel anguish which fills the soul. Verily, they shall have their reward. Amid the songs of that vast company whom no man can number will be heard the clear, clarion note; WELL DONE! WELL DONE!